Project Dark Ring FF Book One: Link the Fire
by Nevis Ysbrid
Summary: A first-person account of the story of Bartholomew, the fledgling Astoran knight fated to become the 'true' Chosen Undead as he journeys through multiple spans of the apocalyptic events of Lordran, coming to discover the true nature and meaning of Humanity and the Dark Ring. Strong historical accuracy, language, horror, drama, character development and potential sexual elements.
1. 1Born in the Dark and Warmed by the Fire

**Book the First: Link the Fire**

**Chapter One: Born in the Dark and Warmed by the Fire**

_In the Age of Ancients the world was unformed, shrouded by fog. A land of grey crags, arching trees and everlasting dragons. Then there was Fire and with Fire came Disparity. Heat and cold, life and death, and of course... Light and Dark._

_Then, from the Dark they came and found the souls of Lords within the flame. Nito, the First of the Dead. The Witch of Izalith and her daughters of Chaos. Gwyn, the Lord of Sunlight, with his faithful knights. And the Furtive Pygmy, so easily forgotten._

_With the strength of Lords, they challenged the dragons. Gwyn's mighty bolts peeled apart their stone scales. The witches weaved great firestorms. Nito unleashed a miasma of death and disease, and Seath the Scaleless betrayed his own and the dragons were no more._

_Thus began the Age of Fire. But soon, the flames will fade and only Dark will remain. Even now, there are only embers and man sees not light, but only endless nights, and amongst the living are seen carriers of the accursed Darksign._

_Yes, indeed, the Darksign brands the Undead. And in this land, the Undead are corralled and led to the north, where they are locked away, to await the end of the world._

_... This is your fate._

In the beginning, there was only void, only dark. Unaware, unconscious, asleep. Then there was a light, and sound; my eyes opened and I breathed. My breath, soft and gentle, thinner as the high, cold air, as insubstantial as the spirit the faiths said it held, yet so alive as I saw something faint and white and red through my closed eyes. A word, in a sense, a sound that represented my very existence. I drew in in return, grateful, desperate to fill my empty lungs.

There were sounds above me; sharp, precise scraping, a slam of something softer on a hard, grating and shaking with the force of the impact. A grunt, and then a rhythm of sounds, one then another, moving quickly and growing louder and thus closer. A guttural bellow sounded, vibrating the air, further away; then the approaching sound of racing foosteps covered in metal. With each moment, my senses returned, awakening me, and enlivening each thought and feeling and sensation.

Slowly, I opened my eyes; I was greeted with the vision of a room in darkness, the bangs of my hair dangling in front of the sight. Red-grey stone bricks formed flat walls, frost and moss and grime giving them texture while leaving the cobbled floor bare save several broken wooden boxes and bits of leather. Rusted doors-iron?-lay closed in the gateway, thick and straight bars crossing vertically and crossed horizontally; the sort of door that like marked a dungeon cell. The most striking, the most drawing feature, though, was the single shaft of clear light, falling grace from heaven above through a gap in the ceiling some thirty feet at least above. Amid the dank and cold dark-nay, even without the disparity, the light appeared as holy, a gift from Heaven, a beacon in the misery and dark. I gazed softly, my wits beginning to edge back into my mind and soul.

Something changed, then; it took me a moment to realize it was the quiet. The footsteps had stopped. Then, a grating noise-above, near the entrance to the shaft above. I slowly lifted my head, as though it were the first uncertain movement in my entire life-unknowing that, in a sense, it was. A moment later, something fell through the shaft, falling fast-and a mass of of pink purple wrapped in brown crashed upon the ground. It was in the shape a of a body, save the horrible wrinkling and disfiguration. I looked upwards again, quickly; a warrior garbed in beautiful, shining armor of steel and blue cloth and gold filigree and bits of leather-a design famous to the most elite knights of Astora- gazed at me, hand on knee as he looked downward. Without a word, he stood upright, turned and walked away. Uncertain, I rose myself, standing, and waited a moment to see if he returned. When he did not, I looked to what must surely be a corpse now sharing my cell. Something tied the ragged brown cloth adorning it glinted in the light. I walked forward and shifted the pile over; and, indeed, it was a corpse.

Save, it was no ordinary corpse; the skin was taut and wrinkled as if mummified, strongly discolored with a pink-purple tint and empty eyes-empty and lifeless even the standard of a corpse. The irises of those sad eyes, left in an expression of despair in the soul's last tortured moments, were a mix of red and black, corrupted. The mouth gaped open, as though crying in anguish. And now, my mind returned, I knew full well what fate the cursed man had been left to; Undeath, and even worse, becoming a Hollow, an Undead that had become overcome with despair and violence, damned to lose his sanity and attack anything he came across forever. And, then, too, I remembered why I must be in this place. Vivid, powerful, clear as the sight before me, the last moments I remembered crashed into me like a tidal wave, the water becoming light, the froth sparks and splinters and the roar or water the roar of war.

_Steel rang on steel, mixing with the cries of men, explosions, shouts of rage and the casting of magic. Spears and halberds and swords broke, splintered, shattered and cut through steel and leather and flesh as arrows of wood and barbs of metal or ethereal soul energy pierced into soldiers and mercenaries and knights and horses, stepping or falling dead upon the soft, dense green grass. Beyond the battle itself lay the mountains and pass across the fields or the tall, grey-white city walls behind._

_I am pushed towards the skirmish, the chaotic front-line where pikes and halberds clash as two walls of spikes, while those caught in-between draw swords and maces and shields. The cavalries clash, making to flank and route those unmounted while archers and sorcerers send missiles into the fray further back so as to not hit their own. Though an appointed knight, I lack a horse for it was slain and I had naught left in coin, leaving me left to join the title-less men-at-arms of the infantry. Spear hefted, sword and shield hanging from my back and belt as side-arms, I am pushed into the front as though the men behind me are a wave of the ocean. Several pikes from across the divide come near my face, and even with my training and talent, it is as much luck as skill and intelligence and deft maneuvering that I pass through those moments unscathed. I lunge my spear forward in response to another pikemen left open; his scream fails and makes instead a gurgling noise, blood spewing out from his mouth and neck as the point pierces into his throat. He falters and falls and is soon trampled by the others._

_Such as it is; I am fortunate, indeed, as several minutes pass and I am alive and even unharmed. I see a soldier, dressed in near full-plate rather than common mixture of chain and plate draw a miracle-casting talisman-and I recognize the white energy beginning to emanate from it. "HE'S USING FORCE!" I yell in warning to my comrades and allies-too late. The orb of kinetic energy explodes outward, carving out a clearing and knocking several men down, and those behind them scramble to take advantage or recover. I, though, wonder at the risk; it was not used to press an advantage, nor to create an important opening or defend one. Such a frivolous use was taught as folly to such knights to who used that magic; why, then? I glanced around, risking my attention to look beyond-and saw._

_The commanders of our forces were being chased down by the opposing cavalry, the criers and defenders like mostly slain already. The spell was a distraction, a ruse to force the infantry's attention and resources there so as to leave our commanders abandoned-and with them, my dear cleric Anna. And, apparently, it was working, as more of the enemy began to cast force miracles. I screamed to my allies, yet was drowned out in the noise of magic and screams of dying men. I clenched my jaw. That I was the only one who noticed was absurd-yet, apparently, the case._

_I simultaneously cursed and blessed the events. Always had I been driven, whatever my low ambitions were, to some 'other', greater, purpose. I sought neither coin nor family nor lover nor title in the same way others did; such things, however wonderful they were, were not mine. Not what my soul ached for. I yearned for some action I could not name. Some men held a lover for a craft such that cost them all else; some mages were so consumed by their dedication to their magic that they lost or eschewed others and comfort altogether. I yearned for such a thing to love so, felt incomplete, not even alive without it. Yet, in my prayers, only once had some god or guiding spirit touched me in answer as to my calling; an infinite, absolute desire that I could not allow upon the world for my damnable empathy, integrity and compassion. Always since had I prayed I was wrong, or that it had lied, and I had some other destiny in place if only I found it, if only I waited... For as much as I feared for my commanders and Anna, my heart leaped as I wondered if I dared hope this the beginning of my purpose._

_I turned and broke into a run, moving as fast as my armor allowed, dodging magic and blades by a hairs-breadth as I made my suicidal run through the gulf between two the two armies. Several small scrapes and cuts I endured and pushed aside before I burst outward, racing to the ever-dwindling battle between cavalry and commander. A lone knight moved to stop me; surely by the grace of Heaven, I managed to knock him from his horse, though my spear broke in the process. I drew my arming sword as I grabbed at his horse and climbed atop before reigning in the hostile steed not used to me. I kicked my spurs into his flanks, sending him flying towards the commanders._

_I was upon them quickly, thank the Gods. Surely I must have been chosen by the divine, for I slew one mounted cavalier after another, men of far greater skill and arms and armor than I, felling them with uncanny speed among the riders and tents. Binds I had not mastered won my conflicts, twisting my sword and shield around theirs, dodges as much desperate as calculated save me from magic as I carved my way through the ranks towards my leaders and I prayed a still-safe Anna. Soon I met the leader of the cavaliers, dismounted to attack his prey laid out upon the ground, and stayed his blade from meeting the flesh of our present General-and his men from pale, fair-haired Anna, thankfully as-yet unharmed in the tent beyond._

_The battle was more ferocious than any I had ever witnessed; he cut into my leg, slipping past the armor. He stabbed near an inch into my chest when I lost a bind, only my berserk dedication moving me fast enough to remove the blade before it penetrated deeper. Wild, uncertain, he near toyed with me, and it was only my utmost savagery that kept me alive for the difference in our skill. So, I took a gamble-far more dangerous than the usual calculated gamble of combat. I pressed inward offensively with my shield, provoking a swing from his fine two-handed longsword-and I allowed it to strike, the force managing to cut even through my plate armor and pierce into a place I knew to be not necessarily mortal and I used my shield to lift the visor to his armet and sheathed my blade in his exposed face. I pushed him down, driving him as I thrust his life from his body, blood seeping from the both of us. I took by sword with two hands and ripped it outward in a savage pull before turning to look back to my General, and to Anna. I was blessed to see their faces in amazement and thanks before a pain like unto the Dark's own malice pierced me from behind. I stumbled, forward, near paralyzed and shocked, somehow turning around. I looked upon the knight whose horse I had stolen, who I had left alive in my haste. He readied his sword again; I kicked his feet while desperately clinging to mine, and he fell, sending the blades all the way through both of breatsplates and chests, his burying in the ground beyond and mine kissing the sky, blood coming down it like rain in the sky. I took my last raspy breath and, as my heart failed, the world went cold and black._

I looked down at my chest, raised my hand to it; indeed, the split in my armor was still there. And I noticed my own flesh had taken on a purplish tint, and as I pulled up my shirt and armor, I saw a dark circle over my heart. The Darksign, the mark of the Undead. I had died and risen Undead, which also explained where I must be; the Astoran Northern Undead Asylum, located on a mountain dividing Astora from the cold wildlands, the utmost northeastern edge of the civilized world.

I buckled over, trembling. I was dead. I was Undead. I had lost my life, my friends and family, even Anna, even if that never would have gone anywhere. My entire world was lost, and now I was damned, born again in the dark, cursed to die again and again, dying in agony only to rise again and lose my sanity. Terror gripped me for the future, anguish and loss for the past, desolation and isolation for the present. My heart ached in my chest the apple in my throat swelled painfully. Even my flesh was torn and mummified, ugly and twisted. Acrid, salty tears streamed down my face as I sobbed aloud, anguish overcoming any attempt on my mind's part at shame. Several minutes passed before I sat up noticed a small disk-shaped pendant hanging from my neck-my old keepsake, a declaration and reminder of who and what I was, as though it was my soul made manifest. I took it in my hands desperately, gratefully, and kissed it, blessing the one small part of me that I still had. I stood up, sniffling, and wondered at my situation rather than only wallowing in it again.

Apparently, my last act had won me enough honor that they left me fully garbed rather than take the valuable items, even if I was Undead. Yet where was my shield? It was missing, and my sword was more a ruin than a blade now, barely more than a damaged hilt. I supposes it like mattered little, though; my fate now was, ultimately, little different from the poor man who lay at my feet.

That thought reminded me of the glint, and I bent down and took it in my hand-a key. The warrior above had dropped down to me, a man in a dungeon cell, a corpse with a key. It like opened the cell gate which was presumably locked. I took it and put it to the lock and, indeed, the mechanism turned, allowing me to push the door open. I stepped out into a dimly lit hall, several idle hollows slumping on the walls near the precious few torches.

I pulled what remained of my sword and grimaced as I neared them. I knew too well what a Hollow was. An Undead who had lost their sanity, one said nothing, would be docile one moment and kill you the next. They were dangerous, and it was the endless waves of them that were bringing the world to near an apocalypse as masses and waves of them attacked and destroyed entire countries from within. Mighty Balder and Berenike both were near destroyed for them. I knew what necessity demanded I do. I raised my sword handle high, the several-inch remainder of the blade glaring menacingly down at the man who stared at me sadly, innocently, as uncomprehending as though he were still a young child, sad and gentle and seeking, begging me.

"I'm so sorry," I said, fresh tears near spilling from my face again. I took the short splinter in both hands and hacked into the man's neck. He screamed, put his hands up to shield himself and grab the blade as black and red blood splattered out, screaming as though he was my own child, asking me to stop. I drew the blade back and swung again, pushing my body into him, forcing him down to the ground. He wailed as I pulled back and swung again, this time crushing into his skull with the pommel. The wailing died down to a moaning whisper before even that faded. Spittle drooled from his broken jaw, tears dripping down his face and all mixing with the mess of brains and mucus and blood, and the soul-collecting crystal tied to my belt drew in the silver-white wisp that was his soul, forever trapping and enslaving it to used in the casting of magic or empowering of tools, denied freedom even in death. I turned and held myself up by my hands and wretched save that there was nothing to, leaving it empty and dry, like coughing sandpaper as tears streamed down my face and I held back a wail to match his own. Yet I was not finished. I did so again with the second and the third Hollow past the stone steps in the pool of water beyond. My heart felt near bursting, twisting in agony. I pressed on, forcing myself to not dwell on it any more than absolutely necessary, and came across a ladder.

Not thinking clearly, I ascended it without forethought, coming into an entrance to a courtyard of sparse grass walled off by walls grey brick, crumbled rubble scattered across the ground and small set of steps leading up to set of double-doors, yellow wood painted in faded bright colorful designs. In the center lay a mound of ash, a sword with a twisted blade stuck into it. A linked bonfire, a safe haven from Hollows-yet also where the rose from each time they died. A mysterious, sacred place, held in the highest respect by the Church. Yet, only a few embers lay around it, the flame itself extinguished. I approached it and put my cold hands near the heat. Blessed Heaven above, the heat, even as my hands ached they were enlivened again. So, too, could I feel the magic in it, calling, spreading seeking, out... and a strange knowing. It spoke to me of lighting, of sparks and embers and fire, of extending my hand outward and connecting with its very source and bringing life into it. And, for my confused and desperate state, I heeded. I lifted my open hand to the pile above it, palm up and raising it, as though drawing the fire up with it. I felt the _essence_ of the fire be invoked, stirred, connect to me, spring alive.

A spark alighted. It grew, turning from a speck into a wisp of orange and blue and yellow and red. It grew to nearly a foot high, a tiny, dancing font of fire. My heart near leaped with joy and gratitude, feeling and sensing the Fire and the life behind it as though it were surely another living being, its tiny flame granting some small respite in the cold, if beautiful, clear-white light. I rested there several minutes, feeling it invigorate and rest me, and, for a few moments, I was gratefully lost in the flame, able to pretend that I had not just murdered innocent men who begged for mercy in cold blood, that I had lost my entire world, or the likely even worse fate for me yet to come.

Soon enough, I was stirred again by noise. Rumblings, vibrations, faint calls from who-knows-what. I looked up and observed the door; it was the only exit save the way I came and another rusty metal gate that was surely locked. Resigned, I rose and approached the door, thinking more of what lay beyond than observing the marvelous, detailed and textured wood and faded images painted on it. I placed my hands on each door and pushed inward.

The room beyond was far larger than the courtyard; a rectangular room of the same sort of stones and walls with square support beams lining near the edges. Vases near as tall as a man littered the floor which was some hundred by three or four hundred feet long and even more tall. With only one window besides the many cracks high up, the room was not especially well lit, though neither was it dark. I walked forward, wondering at the majesty of the room and whether it had always been an asylum. Once near in the middle of the room, I stopped, hearing a noise from the shadowed ceiling. I looked up-and a colossal mass of blue-grey and beige fell at the far end.

Then the thing moved. Nearly fifteen feet wide and thirty tall, with a wide base and narrow hips, yet thin legs and chest of lumpy flesh of folds of fat mixed with enormous muscle, the beast bore a face of nightmares. Tall as a large man, a huge, gaping mouth of human-like teeth save for the massive, razored canines and bizarre gums lifted and lowered to expose the red gums beneath, tiny red eyes lay beneath its beige skull-cap like top, a mass of tines and antlers jutting from its head and back and small bat-like wings. In its hands it bore a hafted bludgeon of what might be wood some five feet thick at its wider end. It stared at me, hate it its demonic red glaring eyes before it loosed an unintelligible, guttural growl. I gaped, my mouth hung wide in shock at the sight as it hefted its weapon over its shoulder. I barely managed to even roll onto the ground to avoid the swing that swept over the ground like the arc of a scythe. It passed through one of the support beams, breaking it, unfazed, as though the stone impeded as little as a reed.

I turned to run back-only to see the door closing of its own accord. Even over the beast's garbled noise and foosteps toward me, I hear the clock click. I turned, panic rising in me. Monsters such as these were the stuff of myth, not something a knight only a year past knighting and years only two and twenty of age faced down and conquered. I held only a broken blade; and even were I fully armed and mounted in the best of equipment, how was I to best this? Combat was not merely hacking away as those uninitiated into it so often thought; it was made of binds and throws, attacking while defending, severing and piercing vitals. Yet what weapon that I could wield could sever this beast's tendons, cleave it's skull or pierce into its heart? To ask a man to face this down was madness.

Yet madness called, and it did not wait. The beast was upon me again, and it swung. I rolled desperately underneath, thinking myself safe for a few seconds. I found myself wrong as it turned the bludgeon around at the apex and swung a second time, connecting with my back and sending me flying into the wall some thirty feet away.

Armor crumpled and bones snapped as I collapsed into the floor; how many I knew not. I could not even really feel the injuries, so much my body numbed them. Surely a gift, for I had seen men go mad after much less damage than what now caused my femur to jut out from my clothes. Even so, I felt the strings of madness pull at me, my own terror begging me to lose myself to insanity so as to relinquish the fear and pain. Yet I would rather bare this than being Hollow, and clung to myself as desperately as a man to a rock in the sea amidst a raging cyclone.

Another step. I raised my head, my right eye seeing more red than clear as it brought its club straight down on me, collapsing my form into a stinking mess of broken steel and leather and bones and blood.

My eyes snapped open, my mind racing in panic at the oncoming mace. Yet, when I looked up, there was a sky of clouds and blue air, not a dark ceiling or a demon swinging a tree at me. For a moment, I thought I must have dreampt the entire ordeal. Dare I think so? Was it possible-or was even possible that even being Undead, too, was only a vision? That I was still in that field in my home of Astora, lying there battered and injured near to the point of death yet somehow not, surrounded by allies and comrades and friends? Or that I had, at least, died and passed, moved on to Heaven? Everything was silent. I was terrified to move even my eyes, afraid of what I would see. Yet, minutes passed, and I knew I must move. Eventually, I lowered my gaze to observe myself and what lay about me.

A courtyard. Grey stone brick walls. Rubble littered across the ground, with a painted yellow wooden door, a hole with a descending ladder, a locked iron door, and a bonfire with a twisted sword sticking out from it. I, myself, was covered in grossly damaged armor, bore only a near blade-less sword, a soul-collecting crystal upon my belt and my keepsake pendant. I was in the Northern Undead Asylum, risen again at the linked bonfire. Desolation lay upon my soul again like morning dew upon grass. A single tear fell from my eye as I sat up, thankfully healed from the mortal wounds as best an Undead can.

I knew there was only forward to go, else stay here and go Hollow. I must face that behemoth, or find a way past it. I ascended the few steps and pushed open the door again.

This time, more observant, I noticed a marking of glaring orange on the floor, glowing even. It was close to the center. I approached it and came close the marking, which looked like glowing chalk. It was a message in Astoran. "Get Away!" It somehow seemed to point to the left; I followed it with my eyes and spotted a doorway. To my right, a mighty crash bore down into the ground. I bolted.

The beast bellowed in frustration as I passed through the door only fit for a man's size, not a massive demon, besides that an iron gate fell shut as I passed through. Strange, these doors, as if they were enchanted as traps. Mayhaps they were. Beyond, in the narrow hallway, a few steps forward lie another small stair, with another dying bonfire near its base and water in the lowered floor next to it.

I approached the bonfire and felt its essence stirring like the one before. Now familiar with it, I repeated the lighting practice, and soon had the second bonfire lit with a small flame. I rested at it for a spell, letting my shattered nerves relax. Soon, though, progress and hope demanded that I press on. There was a few steps to an elevated part of the perimeter floor leading outside, the clear-white light indicating there was a window or no ceiling beyond. I moved to the entrance.

A long, thin passageway with no ceiling lay beyond. In the distance was a hollow awaiting-with a bow. Upon seeing me, it knocked an arrow and loosed, I darted behind the wall, listening as the missile bounced harmlessly off stone. I glanced out again and noticed another room to the left. I quickly ducked inside as another arrow darted past. Inside, amid the dark enclosure of stone and twisted bars and scrap lay my shield, a kite shield coated in steel and a tower design painted across it. Gratitude and hope surged through me as I lifted it and strapped it to my left arm as I had before. Now safe from the projectiles, I left the enclosure and returned to the hallway and began running towards the Hollow, my upraised shield blocking his arrows easily as I crossed the floor of dirt, grass, moss and loose stone.

As I drew near, the Hollow fled into the passageway to the left. Near where he stood, though, on the ground lay an arming sword not too dissimilar from what mine had once been. I raced for it and picked it up, feeling almost prepared for the first time since arriving there. Always, always I had preferred swords to spears, nevermind that swords were a side-arm. And now, too, I was not forced to rely on a near-useless weapon. Assured and filled with confidence now, I approached entered the dark hallway and ascended the steep grade. The Hollow was caught between me and a strange gate of a thick fog-like substance; a mage's door, one that marked a clear boundary between two places. It turned and began firing at me in desperation. I charged and brought my sword across his neck, slicing through the bow upraised in defense. Even so hostile, though, his sad and desolate gurglings haunted me. I quickly moved through the door, pressing through the thick, impeding material. The ethereal sensation chilled me.

I thus entered a thinner, smaller second floor overlooking the courtyard with the first bonfire. Across from the hallway was a small gap in a wall-a window-where I could make out the distinctive close helmet of the warrior who had dropped the corpse into my cage. I walked over and peered through the small opening as best I could; it's height, though, allowed me to see only his helm, and the rest of the room was too dark to make out.

"Hail," I called out tentatively, unsure of what to make of him-and wondering what he made of me. He gave no response save a weak beckoning motion with his arm.

I frowned and walked around the corner, hoping to find a doorway inside. Yet, while there were a large staircase going up and another down, no opening marked the wall. Noting the descending staircase like led to the iron-gated door and the bonfire and thus presented no progress, I chose to explore the upper.

An unfamiliar noise began at heavily shadowed top of the stairs. I peered confusedly for a moment, awaiting what made the sound. A moment later, a sphere of metal four feet in diameter rolled down and slammed my side, knocking the wind from me as I fell back. It crashed into-and through-the wall behind me. After standing back up, I peered inside the dank room with old rainwater pooling inside where must surely be the room the warrior was inside. My glance inside confirmed. Yet first, the stairs, to make sure nothing else attacked me from behind.

I ascended and was met with the sight of another hollow bearing a broken sword. It charged me; I thrust my shield forward, displacing the attack and knocking him off-balance. Then I riposted, swiping my sword-edge down his throat. Praise the gods, the nature of the wound largely muffled his desperate bleating.

I returned to the knight in the water-filled room, a single shaft of light falling at his feet like had been in my cell. His armor was and bent in many places now and blood seeped down the steel, his beautiful armor ruined like beyond repair. I did not wish to imagine what the flesh beneath looked like. This time, he moved his head to look at me; his weariness was palpable.

"…Oh, you… You're no Hollow, eh?" he said weakly. "… Thank goodness… I'm done for, I'm afraid… I'll die soon, then lose my sanity-" the man began coughing and hacking; I could only assume it was blood.

"…I wish to ask something of you… you and I, we're both Undead… Hear me out, will you?"

I knelt beside him and lifted my visor. "Certainly," I said, hoping to provide whatever comfort I could. No one should have to go through this, and certainly not alone. As always, perhaps my greatest weakness as a knight was my soft, caring, empathic heart.

"Regrettably, I have failed in my mission," he said, nodding. "But perhaps you can keep the torch lit... There is an old saying in my family... Thou who art Undead, art chosen. In thine exodus from the Undead Asylum, maketh pilgrimage to the land of Ancient Lords. When thou ringeth the Bell of Awakening, the fate of the Undead thou shalt know."

"Well, now you know," he said, finished with the recitation. "And I can die with hope in my heart..."

"Oh, one more thing... here, take this,"the blue and silver warrior said, drawing a flask of green glass filled with a liquid orange and glowing like fire. He takes my hand palm-up and places it inside. "... An Estus Flask, an Undead favourite," his breathing growing more ragged. I knew Estus well. To drink of the liquid, taken from a linked fire, would heal an Undead's wounds in a matter of moments. This gift was near as valuable as a horse.

"...Oh, and this," he said, also presenting me with a bronze key, barely whispering the sentence. "Now I must bid farewell. I would hate to harm you after death... So, go now... and thank you..."

I had further questions, yet as I opened my mouth, he lifted his hand in refusal, and I must obey. It was his dying wish, merely to be left alone so as to bring no harm. I, of all, people, must respect that. I swallowed the growing lump in my throat, and made for the exit. Loneliness set in again as I crossed the threshold and ascended the stairs again. A few more tears fell as I heard him give his last few haggard, raspy breaths and pass on. A moment later, silver-white energy pooled into my crystal, the damnable thing.

I took the key to the iron door at the end; it fit it like a glove and made a clicking sound as I turned it. Past it was a thin, ten-foot long passageway out onto another open-air balcony, save with walls only three feet high instead of towering overhead. I passed through and noticed it continued around the left corner. I rounded the edge and was confronted with three hollows, two wielding broken swords and the third another bow. I ducked behind the wall as the sword-bearing ones charged and the archer knocked an arrow.

The two swordman rounded the corner, only to be met with my steel edge to their face. Each dropped in a heap, dead. There was naught time to grieve for them, though; there was still an archer to be had. I rounded the corner, my shield raised and blocked the arrow, sending it flying away. I charged and brought my blade down on his head; brains and blood splattered the small steps leading to an enormous fog gate to the left and my sword. The bow, this time left undamaged, fell to the ground. I took it up and hung across the straps on my back and took the few arrows he had left. Another entryway lay just past him. I entered and was immediately met with a much more formidable foe.

A Hollow garbed in armor, albeit damaged, and armed with an arming sword and kite shield rushed at me wildly. Too predictably, though; I shot my shield forward, displacing the sword while I bent over and put my own sword forward and slipped past his poor guard. My blade sunk deep into his chest and he screeched, dropped his sword and flailed in agony. I pulled my sword back out and detached his neck as mercy.

The danger averted, I observed the similar, dark, empty room. Only an iron gate lay in here; upon checking, it was locked, and the bronze key did not fit it. That left only the fog gate. I retraced my steps to it and stared at it; never had I seen one so large. I drew a deep breath, preparing, and pressed in, the mist resisting like a thick, strong wind. Upon pushing through, I stood on a small overhang, the demon gazing up at me spitefully below, unable to reach me.

My nerves on edge yet realizing I was safe, I laughed. The beast new better, and its wings began to flap, lifting it.

I stopped laughing. It began raising its bludgeon to bring it down onto me. Not this time.

Before it could ascend enough, I leaped from the platform, angling it so that all my weight now rested on my sword held in both hands. I crashed down onto the monster's head, driving the blade deep inside. It's guttural, weak voice screamed as I drew it out just before it shook, knocking me off. I landed on my feet, ready as it much more slowly lumbered its heavy beam to attack me.

I slipped under its next swing, skipping the attack off my shield like a stone off of water. I used the time the beast required to gain control of its weapon to hack at its ankle. It screamed again, faltering, and toppling over. I writhed on the floor, dark blood pooling on the ground. I made for its head and drove my sword into its jugular; its screams became wet and ever more garbled, blood spraying everywhere. It took three more breaths, each more desperate and ragged than the last before it gave out and did not draw again.

I stepped back and sat down, newly aware of my heart thudding and racing in my ears. I watched in confusion and fascination as the beast's flesh began to dissolve into a glimmer, fading into the very air. A bright light and mass of energy fed into my crystal. It dawned on me just what I had just accomplished.

I slew it. That thing, that monster. Dear gods and Heaven above, I won. The world seemed surreal. That I had defeated that...

After I let the shock ease from my system, I turned towards a door underneath the overhang I had dropped from. I had not taken the time to look out at what lay there when I had been on the overhang; foolish. I should be more careful. For now, though, there was naught save to press on. I approached the door; it was locked. I pressed the bronze key in-it fit. I turned it and pushed the heavy doors open to be greeted by a what was once a stone path, now mostly buried under earth and grass and moss. As I exited, there were ruins of pillars and walls dotting the narrow trail. Each side was a cliff, the whole place only twenty to thirty feet wide save at the widest parts, and the whole trail went uphill.

I went along, observing, and looking out over to the mountain range further north, grey and blue capped with white and grey ice and mist. Wind howled below; thankfully, none scoured the path here. I passed what was once an archway. Ahead of me now, I saw a tangled mass of wood and branches and bits of hair a fur; a nest, large enough to hold several grown men. I approached it, wary of what would possibly make such a thing.

Upon arriving the crest of the hill, I saw inside the nest. Inside lay two green-blue eggs, each nearly three feet in length. I swallowed; then I heard flapping. I looked outward across the mountains, looking.

A black shape erupted upwards from below the cliff, cawing and spreading its wings. A crow, with a wingspan of thirty or forty feet, stared down at me, its talons reaching. Too slow was I to move; it grabbed at my arms, at my torso, lifted me, and carried away, across the icy mountains through the howling wind.


	2. 2 Oh My God, Please Help Me

**Chapter the Second**

**Oh My God, Please Help Me**

_Only in the ancient legends it is stated that one day, an Undead shall be chosen, to make pilgrimage. To the land of the ancient Lords..._

_...Lordran._

Only for the first few moments did I struggle, flailing frantically, my nerves as jolted as though struck my lightning and my stomach lurching for the lack of ground beneath my feet. Beyond those first few moments, though, still near the cliff edge, the beast dangled me miles above even the icy mountain ground far below, obscured by wispy clouds as it flew further north and west, ever further out past what was already the northwestern corner of the world. Indeed, I soon clung to it instead, lest it decide to drop me unto the jagged-looking peaks of snowdrifts and ice below to make an easy kill of me. For a brief moment, I envisioned my bloody, sticky body dashed upon the sharp ice like a sailor on a rock, intestines unwinding and punctured stomach oozing dissolving acid into my abdomen as the bird came down and picked my flesh apart, savoring it before dropping me piece by piece into the mouths of its hatchlings. My stomach near came to heaving again with the intensity of the visceral image before I banished the thought, returning my focus to clinging desperately to the raven's talons.

I know not how long that journey lasted. I was lost in the wind and icy cold and terror at the prospect at becoming helpless prey, too focused on clinging on for dear life even as it held me firmly and even gently as it passed over the edge of the world and flew over the crashing sea below.

Near the sunset, it began to descend. Through the mists, I made out structures below, giant, decayed yet mighty towers of ancient stone and wood with grass and leaves.

Impossible. Nothing existed further out to sea than the nearby wildlands bordering the insular part of Astora, save in old myths. No real lands existed here, let alone cities with tall, circular towers as I began to see, sprawled out for miles and miles, its size dwarfing any city in the whole of the world.

Scriptures rang in my mind, the words of fanatics and zealous beliefs of the fervent screaming in my eyes. The world had began in a land north and east of even Astora, the Church said. In the land where Fire was first begat, where Gwyn, the Lord of Sunlight was born and the Lords decimated the Everlasting Dragons. Lordran, a place only the fanatical masses and witch-hunters believed in. A sworn knight who had faith in the gods I may be; yet a believing imbecile who cut out the tongues of 'blasphemers' and put stock in baseless tales of unreachable lands of magic and giants I was not.

_Yet here it was_, laid out before me. And quickly becoming much closer as the raven hastened its dive; the whole of me tensed in fear and hopeful preparation.

It headed for a grassy outcropping, the roofless top a tall tower with ruins sprawled across it. The raven began to slow and curve upward, flying slowly above it-and dropped me not more than three feet above it, landing on my feet with a thud softened by dirt and grass covering the stone before it continued on, rising and flying out of sight behind a giant tree erupting from the ruins.

My heart leaped with thanks. I was alive, unharmed even. I jumped into the air with a cry of relieved joy, thrusting my hand into the air, my pulse racing. My appreciation for life after facing death sharpened the world around me; the clear scent and gentle breeze of high airs as cleansing ether to my lungs and mind, the brilliant green of the grass and tree above a vivid celebration of life. The ruins spoke of ancient mysterious to be discovered and the sky of absolute azure and sharp white a canvas for a painting colored by the hand of Heaven.

I took in all the sensations as a saint took in a vision from the gods, reveling in it. The edge of the tower across from was a sharp cliff, falling far into clouds below and deep crevices beyond, occasional towers built into the mountainside and cities vaguely visible beyond. The top of the tower formed a small basin, with a linked bonfire with a fire of a standard house size burning upon its pile of ash. Near a stair down into the tower below sat a man with short, black hair and dressed entirely in chainmail gazing morosely at the fire.

Excitement coursed through me; I was not alone. Like a child I ran up to him, raising my hand to wave.

"Hail!" I said enthusiastically, stopping a few feet in front of him.

The warrior turned to look at me, a cynical smile on his face. He as poorly shaven, thick stubble covering his face. His face and features were all just slightly long; forehead, nose, chin... Many would consider him handsome by even the standards of nobility were he no so tanned or his eyes so bloodshot and filled with so much cynical scorn.

"Well, what do we have here? You must be a new arrival," he said, laughing in a manner almost condescending. "Let me guess; F'ate of the Undead', right?"

I looked at him blankly before nodding. How did he know about that?

" Well, you're not the first. But there's no salvation here. You'd have done better to rot in the Undead Asylum… but, too late now," he said, sympathetically shrugging.

I gaped at him. "Better off _there_?"

The man looked at me as though I had asked if fairies really took the teeth out from under children's pillows and left gifts in return. He thought I was an idiot, or at least a fool. Few things were I so unwilling to be viewed as an idiot.

"Well, since you're here… Let me help you out," he said dryly, though not maliciously. "There are actually _two_ Bells of Awakening." My heart lurched. Whatever quest I had adopted had just doubled at the least, and who was to say what that entailed.

He noted my expression, his face an odd composition of both a depressed grimace and scornful smile. "One's up above, in the Undead Church. The other is far, far below, in the ruins at the base of Blighttown." I shuddered at the name. _Blight_town? "Ring them both, and something happens… Brilliant, right?" he said, his straight and serious tone only better portraying his dripping sarcasm.

"Not much to go on, but I have a feeling that won't stop you," he said, nodding to my sheathed sword. "So, off you go," he said, pointing to a trail carved into a cliff behind me, across the other end of the enclosure. "It is why you came, isn't it? To this accursed land of the Undead?  
Hah hah hah hah," he said, his eyes closed in a sad, knowing smirk.

"So... this _is_ Lordran, then?" I asked. I lifted my visor to speak more clearly, and to be polite and let him see me. "Where, exactly am-"

"Oh! Your face!" He interrupted, surprise written across face. His face soon returned to his somber, self-righteous smirk. "You're practically Hollow! But who knows, going Hollow could solve quite a bit! Ha ha ha ha..." he laughed.

I was taken aback. This man oozed condescension and cynicism. Albeit, it was a better reaction than most Undead received. Even so, it stung, though I think he didn't mean it personally.

"I will _not_ go Hollow," I said defiantly, if quietly. "I may be cursed to wander forever as an Unded, but I will n_ever_ become a Hollow." Never would I become that. Ever.

I motioned to him. "What of you, then? Are you Undead as well? If so, then how do you look... still human?"

He looked at me in surprise, as if, again, I had asked a question with far too obvious an answer. Admittedly, I didn't know much about the Undead.

"Restoring your humanity? Well, there are a few ways to go about it," he said, licking his lips thoughtfully. "Collect it bit by bit from corpses," he said, motioning to a body dangling on the edge of what looked to be a well. "Or you can butter up a cleric, and get yourself summoned."

"And the quickest way, although I'd _neve_r do it," he said darkly and in a hushed voice, beckoning me to lean in closer with a small wave, "is to kill a healthy Undead, and pillage its humanity." He leaned back and laughed darkly. "Coveting thy neighbor is only human, after all! Hah hah hah hah..."

I was taken aback. Murder someone and take their... humanity? Humanity was a quality, a kindness and compassion present in humans and not animals or monsters; hence the term. It was not some _essence_, though, like the soul, that could taken or harvested. ... was it? And, beyond that, murder was murder, even if for self-preservation. Though, I had already done that with those poor Hollows back in the-

I stopped my train of thought immediately, lest I heave again. My face must have gone pale or green, as the man looked at me quizzically. Best to change the subject.

"So, what else can you tell me about this place? What should I do now that I'm here?"

He looked at me in amazement. "What, you want to hear more?" he asked, as though he must surely be the most unpleasant conversationalist in all the world. Many would agree with him. I knew better, though I had certainly known better.

"Oh, that's all we need. Another inquisitive soul," he said, voice as dry and course as desert sand. He looked up and sighed in resignation. "Well, listen carefully, then... One of the bells is up above in the Undead Church, but the lift is broken. You'll have to climb the stairs up the ruins, and access the Undead Burg through the waterway," he said, pointing to a large bridge going across the cliff, connecting some point hidden by the cliff face and the towering wall on the other side of the chasm.

"The other bell is back down below the Undead Burg," he said, pointing straight down into the ground, "within the _plague_-infested Blighttown." He emphasized the word plague as though he were speaking of the Dark itself. My dread of the area grew, though I took his word with a grain of salt. "But I'd die again before I step foot in that cesspool! Hah hah hah hah..." he finished, waving me off. He obviously didn't want to speak anymore.

That answered the question of whether he was Undead or not, then. So I could return to mostly human. Thank the gods.

"So, then, what-"

"Bloody hell!" he complained loudly to the sky before looking at me. "What is it now? You ask too many questions," he said, glaring at me. I took the signal and moved away to investigate the corpse he had motioned towards to remove myself.

The body lay sprawled over the edge, half-inside the well, half-out. And a thing of writhing black danced atop it, interlaced with white edges. Tentatively, I put my hand to it.

It felt similar to the bonfire before; alive, moving. A presence, an essence. Yet, rather than burning and heat and warmth and comfort, in it I felt... longing. Desire. Emotion, goals, aspirations, urge and need. As I touched it, it danced faster, convalescing around my hand and in it I sensed excitement, _joy_ at connecting with another. It was as though the part of humans that desired the physical, the part of humanity that longed and wanted, was social and connecting, had been made material. To call it 'Humanity' seemed entirely fitting.

I swallowed and attempted to pull it out, imagining and sensing it pouring into me. It continued to dance for a moment, whirling around my hand like a whirlpool, before it flowed up my arm, a black ether-like substance floating upwards towards my chest before passing inside.

The sensation of having it inside me was... strange. I at once felt connected, a sense of being part of the same with the world around me, as though my flesh grew into rock and stone and grass and tree, as though the world around was an extension of myself. It was simultaneously fascinating and disturbing, and that was disregarding the gnawing hunger for something not food, for... everything. It reminded me of-

I stopped. Not that. I would not think of _that_, not now. I turned and approached the bonfire, walking straight into it's burning, enveloping warmth.

I looked to the warrior in chain. He was looking elsewhere, obviously ignoring me. I wondered what I had done to offend him so. In any case, he had said I could restore myself to near human with this substance. As he obviously wasn't going to tell me _how_, though, I was left to discover it for myself.

I placed my hand near the fire, similarly to how I had done to light it, hoping to somehow invoke the black essence now pooling within me. And, indeed, it stirred, danced and delighted like sylphs in the midst of a thunderstorm. It tingled in my skin as I imagined myself breathing easier, my skin softening and turning pale once again, the folds relaxing and true life breathing into me again, rather than this accursed half-state.

The sprites continued to dance faster, gaining speed. A liquid warmth spread throughout me.

All at once, a light 'fell' off me, much as though my flesh had breathed a sigh of relief. I felt the folds of my skin relax and moisten, my abdomen expand as life filled it again. I quickly removed my helmet, wondering if I dared to actually hope. I pressed my hand to my face.

It was smooth. Soft. Alive.

I leaped into the air, screaming in joy, arms thrust upward. I turned to the warrior, grinning. The ass merely snorted in response. Still, he had helped me, and I held far more gratitude than resentment.

"Thank you." He snorted again.

An hour passed as I sat back down the fire, basking in it and my renewed life. The sun came near dripping below the horizon. I gazed peacefully at the flames, grateful for a night of rest after all I had endured.

"You know, you can imbue yourself with those souls you've collected at one of those." I turned to see the crestfallen warrior looking at me, his indifferent expression returned.

I peered quizzically at him. "I can do what?"

He pulled his mouth into a line. "Empower yourself with the souls you've collected at a linked bonfire. At one of those, you can absorb their energy into your own soul, strengthening a certain part of you," he explained, oddly more patient than before. "You can fortify your life-force, increase your stamina, heighten your strength and speed and flexibility, or even bolster your intellect or wisdom. It's quite common here, actually,' he said thoughtfully, eyes looking up. "Just raise your soul-collecting crystal to the fire and feel the energy there and will itself into you, focusing on what you want to increase. It feels a bit like lighting one of those, or how you just restored your humanity. Go ahead, try it," he said, watching.

Curious, I untied the crystal from my belt and held it by the string. Could fire really forge lost souls into a man's, much as a smith forged new metal together in its heat? And would such a thing be akin to eating a man's soul, an act only the vilest of monsters and demons even in the myths performed? Those collected by crystals were already lost; it was presumed that they lacked even a true consciousness anymore, more like a plant than a human. I swallowed, and moved the crystal as near the flame as I dared.

And, indeed, I felt the energy present there, radiating outward, shining like a beacon. It flowed into my hand and arm like liquid light, or lightning; clear and soft, and so full of energy yet not exactly hot. I recalled my experience lighting the bonfires in the Asylum, and what else had happened.

Were I to improve my self, what would increase? A gain in what part of me would serve me best? I wondered. To bolster my life would ensure my chances my survival amidst this chaos; yet, it may also only prolong the pain. My stamina served enough thus far, even in metal armor. Intellect and wisdom I certainly desired; yet, practicality suggested them less useful than other things, especially since I knew virtually no magic, and would require a teacher to make any use of it. Dexterity, perhaps; yet, recalling the behemoth demon I had faced in the Asylum, better ability to hack mightily and render thick flesh asunder seemed the more useful aspect, given the situation. Strength it was, then.

I reached out into the crystal and imagined it flowing through me, its icy liquid fire pulsing through my veins as surely as through my soul, and reinforcing my muscles, adding to the force my flesh exerted.

And lightning shot through me, yet lacking the harsh jaggedness, interlacing through my blood and feeding into my very soul. The thrill was as much a physical sensation as an emotion, watching and feeling as the silver-white light of souls fed into me, nourished me and caused me to grow. I could feel the strength in my arms, my legs and back and abdomen and shoulders and chest all delight in their newfound strength. I found myself panting, exhiliterated.

I turned to the warrior, my eyes shining and my sweaty flesh shining the excitement. He merely looked at me disinterestedly before turning away again.

"Thank you." I knew better than to expect a response this time.

I stood up and stretched and walked over to the edge of the ruined side of the tower-and was surprised to see another small enclosure just below, which the stairs near the man clad in chain must lead to. I expected the stairs to go straight inside a lower room in the tower. I bent over to observe it.

Little was there; just ruined walls around the cliff-side and grass covering the platform. I nearly returned over the rail before I noticed a barred cave immediately below me.

I turned to the man in chains. 'There's a cave or cell down there. What's in it?" I asked. He merely sighed as though I wasn't there.

Intrigued and drawn for some reason I knew naught, I went to the grey stone steps to his right, Indeed, they lead down onto the enclosure, circling around. I entered the platform and walked to the cave and peered inside facing near northwest, the setting sun illuminating it perfectly so as to not blind or glare. What I saw took my breath away.

A young woman sat inside, legs folded over themselves and hands in her lap. She let her head hang gently, her long, blonde bangs dangling in her pale face. She wore a tattered shawl of matted grey and black, covered and stained with dirt, ash and soot and a matching and similarly worn and discolored skirt. The maiden's hair was pulled back save for her bangs, tied up in a bun, the lowest parts of the golden hair on her neck falling down, too short to abide the tying. She looked up at me, revealing her ash-dirtied, ever-so-slightly thin and girlish, soft-featured face with narrow nose and chin.

Above all, it were eyes that undid me, though. Sad, despondent as though wondering if they dare harbor hope, and ever-so-slightly large for an adult. Even more striking were their color, a blue a light, intense ethereal blue, yet so dark in the shadows of her brows as to look like near-black sapphires. Without her even gazing sharply, I felt my soul naked and bare before them, my entire self bared and visible to her if she only looked.

_Oh my god, please help me. I am undone_, I thought. I gazed stupidly in her eyes, heat rising in my abdomen and my heart in my chest. Never had I felt this when looking at a woman before, not like this. In my loins, perhaps, yet not in my chest. Not with this longing that made the Humanity sprites' desire seem like ashen indifference by comparison, this urge to lean forward, to bare myself and become so close to those eyes...

She gazed at me several moments, waiting. I nearly jumped when I awoke enough to realized what I was doing. My face blazed far hotter than it had by the fire.

"U-uh, h-hello. I am Bartholomew," I said, smiling as I offered her my hand through the bars. "Of Astora."

Slowly, gingerly, she touched her fingertips into my gloved palm before slipping her entire hand over and her other under, cradling it. Gods, damn those gloves this moment, keeping her skin from mine. Even still, my heart leaped in my chest at even so small a connection.

"What is your name?" I asked, forcing down my eagerness.

She looked back up to meet me. The sadness in here eyes grew-and hopelessness as well. After a moment, she shut here eyes and shook her head.

I looked at her in confusion. "What?"

She took her hand and pointed to her mouth. She shook her head again, those beautiful, dirty bangs dangling like strands of light between the clouds from heaven to me. Fear took root in my gut and chest at her response, and what I prayed wasn't the case.

"You... can't speak?" I asked, edging the horror from my voice.

She shook her head despondently. No, she could not speak. So fearful of the answer was I that I did not ask if it was because she had no tongue. I looked away for a moment-and I saw her ankles peeking from her skirt for the angle she currently sat at.

There was no foot at the end of that beautiful, slender ankle. I felt sick, and bile rose as surely as my heart contorted in agony. It was all I could to to keep my eyes from watering.

I observed the metal bars which I was now certain marked the cave as a cell. "You can't leave, can you."

Another shake of her head. Another dagger in my chest. That begged another question.

"Do you _want_ to leave?" She hesitated. After a moment, she shook her head, if less assuredly this time. Nonetheless her answer stood.

I looked down at the grass, now dejected myself. "Can I do anything for you? Get you anything?"

And my heart near burst with the sad smile she gave me as she gently shook her head again. All the honey in the world and every last drop of sunshine could not be so sweet as her face, and the sadness in it near caused my heart to swell to bursting open from my chest. She put her hands together in a prayer-like gesture of recognition and thanks before extending it outward again, surely as a farewell.

I took it gratefully and bent my head to it. So gently did I press my lips to her hand as a knight did the lord or lady her served, setting her face awash with shock and perhaps embarrassment. I stood up, bowing.

"'Till next we meet, then. Farewell," I said, taking one last look at her amazed face. I could have sworn I saw emotion flutter across her eyes and her chest rise far too quickly to be normal. Before she could resume her mask of dejectedness and imprint that as my last memory of her, I turned and made my way up the stairs to the bonfire.

The warrior in chain took note of my face as I came up the stairs. "Oh, have you seen that terribly morose lass?" I stopped to look at him " ...The Fire Keeper. She's stuck keeping that bonfire lit, he said, nodding to the linked bonfire. How was she related to it? "Sad, really," he sighed. " She's mute and bound to this forsaken place. They probably cut her tongue out back in her village, so that she'd never say any god's name in vain." He didn't notice my jaw clench or my heart twist in agony. "How do these martyrs keep chugging along? I'd peter out in an instant. Hah hah hah hah..."

Indeed, such was common enough practice. The Church-and the zealots who blindly followed them-could be merciless. I walked into the ruins to clear my head of the image of savage men, urged on by a screaming crowd of narrow-minded peasants, held her tongue with forceps and brought a blade or shears near.

I walked in among the ancient stone walls, taking a random path. Several turns in, I found a third inhabitant of the ruin-one wearing the trademark armor of the cleric-warriors of the Way of White, a militarized sect devoted to Allfather Lloyd, the Uncle of Lord Gwyn.

I approached him waving, grateful for the reprieve from my imagination. "Hail."

The man with a long, wide nose and face and bowl-cut blonde looked at me. He was middle-aged and bore a morning star and colorful shield besides his armor of overlapping steel plates mixed with leather.

"Hello there. I believe we are not acquainted? I am Petrus of Thorolund. Have you business with us? ... If not, I'd prefer to keep a distance, if possible," he said, turning his nose away as though the conversation was over. I was taken a little aback. Little use in pressing the matter, I supposed. I turned to leave.

"... wait," he said again in an apologetic tone. I turned to face him again. "I realize that I have requested that we retain our distance, but I also want you to know that it is not meant in ill-will. Here," he said, withdrawing something from a pocket, "take this. As a token of peace." I raised my hand to say that I didn't need anything to bribe me, yet he shook off my refusal, shaking his head in return. "No, go ahead. It's for you," he said, placing a copper coin in my hand. Like worthless here, though.

"My companions are M'lady and her young knights. She is young, but burdened by an Undead mission. We are her defenses, to keep her from harm."

I looked at him quizzically. "And 'Undead mission?"

His mouth tightened into a line. 'Regrettably, I cannot share that with you. But then again, you are my pupil," he said, nodding at the crest on my armor. Knights of Astora were all required to swear allegiance to the Way of White, whether the oath was heartfelt or not. "Perhaps... if you show your faith..." he said, outstretching an open hand.

It figured. Clerics and priests were rarely so pious and holy as the paraded themselves around as. Like as not, they were as corrupt as the rest, and he was expecting payment for information. As I lacked any coin or treasure, I imagined I only had one thing useful in trade; souls, and information was what I really needed in this place. I placed my crystal in his hand and willed the reservoir to trickle out until he nodded. I reattached my crystal to my belt.

"Very well. I can surely tell you, of all people... Undead clerics are given a mission to seek Kindling. Kindling is the art of feeding bonfires with humanity. Through Kindling, we shall one day be granted magnificent powers."

I looked at him quizzically. "What kind of powers? And where will you find that?" I asked.

"M'lady, coming hither soon, bears that information, not I. You will have to await her arrival for more specific details than that."

I grimaced; he had essentially cheated me. Yet he had, technically, held up his end of the agreement. "Thank you. I'll be going, then."

"Come again!" he said, grinning. "The effectiveness of the teachings depend upon your faith." Some cleric blessing or such, I imagined as I left to back to the bonfire.

I slept well enough that night, even with the dreams and nightmares of demons, snide soldiers and cheat clerics and a dirtied, golden-haired maiden of a beauty to exceed the divine tortured by bigots. Hollows attacked me and died horribly; demons spider-women and burning trees met their end at my blade; the skeletal dead moved amongst their crypt at the behest of macabre necrourgers and a mass of bones wreathed in black, a dragon surrounded by crystal cried in a fit of madness, and knights without flesh and clad in black hunted me to the ends of the earth while dragons flew in a sky held aloft by giant trees while a flame burned deep beneath the ground, surrounded by a coliseum and attended by a giant man set afar while an infinite darkness and toothy serpent dwelling within watched and waited. Always, though, always, was the hope of seeing those blue eyes in a smile of pure love and joy.


End file.
